Noni and Miles, 2002

"Mom" and me

 

Miles and Noni, May 1986

This has been a year…a year of me losing things…my mind, people and weight. There are such things in life as lost opportunities, “missed boats”…when the timing just isn’t right. I feel like I’ve spent the year re-creating my steps for one reason or another. Wondering why I took that left step instead of that right one. Wondering for example, when I lost my wedding rings at the pool in July while swimming with my baby daughter… “Why the hell did I decide to go swimming that day?” And “How come I was wearing my wedding rings?” And Why the hell did I take them off?”

The answers are simple. It was hot…there was a pool. My baby loves swimming. Of course I’d take her. I’m a swimmer. I don’t usually go to the pool with all my jewelery on, however…(usually I take it off way before deciding to go to the pool), but I have before, and when I take the jewelery off I put it inside of safe pockets.

I thought I was safe. I thought my rings were in safe pockets, but two days later I noticed that my rings were indeed gone…all three of them.

The days before the ill-fated swim date were muddled. What had I done? When was I wearing my jewelery? Why was I wearing it that day?

When I tried re-tracing the whole thing, I realized that as a new mommy I did a lot things this year — a lot of things were added into my agenda that I didn’t used to do and I couldn’t keep up.

In addition to wallets, clothes and rings, I lost people this year. Three people who meant the world to me died in 2010 and only one of them I felt like I saw “in time” and his death was the most shocking of all.

“Mom”

I didn’t have a nanny growing up. My mom raised my brother and me pretty much as a single parent. Now that I’m a mom, I don’t know how she could have possibly done it alone. But she wasn’t completely alone. We certainly didn’t have a live-in nanny or anything but we did have someone, a woman who was so close to me that I even affectionately called her “mom.” Well, I loved her enough to call her “mom.” Mom Klein was Ruth Klein, a beautiful German woman that my mom knew through her social work job. All I know is that she absolutely loved me unconditionally. I always felt like I was her favorite and I called her “mom.” She taught me German, painted my nails and took me shopping. I also loved sitting in her beautiful gardens, watching her cook her fantastic Bavarian meals and cookies. She smoked like a lady and drank coffee and spoke in German to her lady friends who would stop by.  I loved her kids, too. There were 4 of them and they were all 5 to 10 years older than me. When they were teenagers, I was envious. I couldn’t wait to be a teenager, but to “Mom” I was always a baby, even when I was a teenager myself. We stayed connected with “Mom” over the years, but about 10 years ago I told her I was going to come by and see her and I forgot. I can’t believe that I did that. I guess at the time, I was …rude and selfish. I saw “Mom” after my wedding 6 summers ago. She wasn’t the same as I remembered her. She seemed bitter in her old age. But I always kept a special place in my heart for her.  Every time I was home in these past 6 years, I’ve mentioned going to see her to my real mom. We’ve considered it….but it never happened. Before I could “consider” it again, my mom told me that she passed away this June. I cried and looked up at the clouds…”Mom.”

Aunt Marj

Marj Priestly is the opposite of “Mom.” I seriously doubt that she loved anyone without conditions, and she seemed to judge me in a way that never made me feel comfortable. If I said that I wanted to do something, like be a playwright or an actress, she seemed to think I should just “give it up.”  I can remember leaving her house and feeling like throwing up.  But she also supported me in many ways, and through knowing her, I’m very changed. My great Aunt Marj and Uncle Hank were “my wealthy” family that lived in New York somewhere. Apparently my mom was Marj’s favorite niece and once or twice a year checks appeared in the mail for no reason at all. My mom had such fond memories of spending time with her in White Plains, New York when she was a kid. “She’d take me everywhere,” my mom would say to me. These relatives sounded like people I should know. But my mom and I are different people. I wouldn’t say were cut from the same cloth, so-to-speak. I’m wild and crazy and very artistic — more than a bit like my famous granny Dale Messick. My mom, on the other hand is a square, exactly the kind of niece that Aunt Marj, who was the head of the Girl Scouts could instill good diction and motivate.

“My aunt is dud, but that’s okay,” is what I wrote in my journal of  my summer of ’86 visit to see them. In many ways, the Priestly’s lived up to their reputation: they  took me to the top of Tower One (of the Twin Towers). Later I’d move to New York City, but I’d never stand on the top again. They also took me to see the Statue of Liberty and I shed a tear. Even though I now can see the Statue of Liberty from my balcony, that was my first time seeing it and it was glorious.

In 2000 when I moved to New York City Marj and Hank were my only family on the East Coast, so I made a point of knowing them. I’d take the train out to White Plains. They’d pick me up and take me to lunch at their fancy country club once or twice a year. My uncle Hank always drove, which was very scary. There couldn’t have been an older nor scarier driver on the road. Not only was he as old as dirt, he was also flush with martinis. Though I feared for my own life, their boring tour of White Plains “here’s the garden that we built,” etc…always put me on the verge of sleep, and during those 45 minute drives through White Plains, I felt like a kid in the backseat, when I wasn’t one anymore. I had responsibilities in NYC, a job, rent, etc…but for now, in the warmth of this car…What? Was that a dog we just hit? I just hoped to escape before someone had a heart attack or we ran into a train or a tree or both.

Six years later, shortly after Uncle Hank had passed, I happened  to be working White Plains very near Marj’s house, so I started stopping by on my way home from work to check in on her. She was very distraught without Hank and I think she felt quite vulnerable. On one of my visits she asked me to take care of her finances and to be her legal contact. This was a considerable shock to me. Yes, I guess I was her only family near her…but, well, okay.  This changed our relationship dramatically and gave me a staggering amount of responsibility that I never asked for nor wanted. Her daughter lived in Alaska and her neighbors were taking advantage of her, preying on her growing paranoia and confusion. I often felt like I was in danger as I tried to help her. I started coming every week, even though I now had a full-time job in the city and going to White Plains every weekend was a strident task.  Through this experience I got to know Marj  on a completely different level than I ever expected or wanted to. This was both good and bad. My favorite part of this time in our relationship were the days when I’d come take care of her bills and we’d sit and watch TV together or have a nice chat. I gave her books, read her some of my stories and even let her read one of my plays and listened to her very constructive criticism. I actually changed something in the play because of what she said. She was smart and alert even though she was very old and extremely opinionated. She was a tough nut, but she did love me and I know she wanted the best for me, even if she couldn’t always say it.

After I had my baby I was only able to talk to her on the phone occasionally. I was about to call her when her daughter sent me an email and told me that she had passed “nearly two weeks ago.”  “Two weeks ago?”  How? I used to see her every week and in retrospect, I’m so glad for that time. At one point, Marj gave me a bag of her fancy purses from some of the many cruises she took with Hank when they could still travel. I pulled out one of the very chic purses and wore it to a party this fall. The black satin, jeweled bag was filled with a whole new light when I thought of her giving it to me. I touched my fingers on the lace and thought of all the good that came with it. Thanks, Marj for everything you were. Believe it or not, you really were my family, and you meant a lot to me, too.

Miles

Once, years after we broke up Miles showed up at my office in San Francisco. It was my first real “business” job out of college.  He was standing at the door smiling, looking incredibly chill in his jeans and t-shirt, while I was totally uncomfortable in my pencil skirt, nylons and heels.  He was kind of like family at this point, so I asked him to help me move some heavy chairs in our basement. Miles was a friendly face, just when I needed it.  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. He waited for me to get off and I think we hung out for an hour. The minute I got out the door, he held my hand, which I embraced. He looked over at me, almost gushing and breathed in the air like he was in heaven just to be with me for a few minutes. It’s a wonderful feeling to be so loved and he always made me feel that way whenever and wherever I’d see him, whether it was planned or not.  “Have you ever thought how weird it is – that we just ….I dunno. It’s almost like a spiritual connection,” I said.  He looked at me like I was nuts.

Fast forward to Thanksgiving 2010, New York City where I’ve been living for the past 10 years.  Outside of the “funny feeling” I’d been having all week, this year was going to be much better than last year. Thanksgiving 2009 I was so overwhelmed with my new job as “mommy” that I don’t even remember the day. This year we were having a houseful of people over and I was making the Pumpkin Pie and letting my daughter lick the spoon.

The meal was fine and the company even better. I felt like the crowd was pleased. For some reason,  I mentioned Miles during the dinner and talked about him for a good five minutes.  I rarely discussed him or any of his issues with anyone and I’m really not sure what made me bring it up at dinner. It was rather odd timing come to think of it.   The very next day, I got a message on Face Book from Holly, Miles’ ex-girlfriend. The message only said “Can you call me it has to do with Miles.” I called the number listed but she didn’t answer. What could it be? I knew it was bad, but tried not to think about it. Still, I called my three best friends to tell them about the odd message.  Holly was Miles’ girlfriend a few years after me, so by then I was long gone, dating someone else, off at college. But I’d see them at our hometown disco parties. She was a pretty blond and I always liked her (and I was a little jealous, since she was so hot). I hadn’t spoken to her in years. Even though I kept in close contact with Miles, I never knew their story, why they broke up or anything about her, except that they were still in touch.

I consider this hour of time before Holly and I could actually speak as the hour before I knew. The hour before my heart would break, truly break in half. It was so thoughtful of her to tell me, considering it took his sister another 24 hours to call me and by then, it was all over Face Book. Miles RIP. People were posting who hadn’t seen him in 10, some 20 years. Once she said the words, I felt blindsided. This is when I went into a dream state, half awake half asleep, full of memories and regrets.

When I started the 9th grade back at Petaluma High School, I was making a very wise decision, but I didn’t know it at the time. I had spent my 8th grade year living with my dad and step mom in Santa Rosa. So I met a whole new group of people, and I had new friends. But I decided at the last minute that I’d rather move back with my mom and go to high school in Petaluma instead of spending another year at a junior high. The junior high that I was going to in Santa Rosa was a three-year program and in Petaluma high school started in the 9th grade. Woo hoo! My life would become amazing in the ninth grade and it was 50% up to me and 50% up to chance. I met Miles Miller McNaught in the spring of the 9th grade and I’m not kidding, the air smelled different. I never knew that cut grass smelled so fresh, that I could feel so wonderful inside — like I was percolating and about to explode. It was first love and it would last all through high school and beyond, really.

Just this past summer when I drove up to his parents’ house to visit him (as I’ve always done), I realize that it was the 24th year that I’d been showing up there and that his dad said “Miles, Noni’s here!”  Last summer was the end of something that I’d come to just know as “is.”  Now, that’s just something that I used to do.

I remember furiously riding my bike to that same house 24 years ago. I was on restriction and my mom had locked me in the back of her office, but I had found a way out, grabbed my bike and took off riding as fast as my legs could carry me — to Miles’ house. When I got there, I remember he didn’t want to get in trouble with my mom…so even he was shocked to see me. “Hide me in your closet,” I whispered. So I hid in his closet. Then, I guess my mom called and his dad came in his room and said “Miles have you seen Noni? Her mom is looking for her…” I guess I figured I couldn’t hide in his closet forever, so I just jumped out the closet and said “Hi John.” I thought his poor dad would have a heart attack.

Miles was extremely handsome and two years older than me. He was the class president the year before and on the football team. I was younger and goofy with braces, but I was pretty cool too. I had my own special flair.  I obviously liked good music. Miles wasn’t just good looking, he was also an amazing, talented guitarist and was part of a band that played at parties and at local venues (and at school during the lunch hour) called The Accolades. So yeah, he was pretty cool.

We had this kind of instantaneous romance that apparently inspired our classmates to “love deeply.” It all started in detention one day about 2 months earlier. I was sitting in the classroom and there was this super hot guy sitting behind me. He had his shirt off and he was working on some special drawing. I turned around and smiled at him. He smiled back. I’m not sure why but I pulled out a pen and started drawing on his drawing too. We didn’t exchange names or anything. At the end of detention we went our separate ways, but something was happening. Like I said, I walked outside and can remember smelling the grass…I noticed that the colors were brighter. That the world looked differently to me…and things even tasted better. The next day, I don’t think I sat right next to him (that seat was taken – damn).  So I sat across from him and we smiled at each other.  You’d have to see Miles smile to know how cute it was when “Mr. Charming” was smiling at you. He’d smile and blink his green eyes at the same time, kind of part cat, part clown.

So finally, I asked the girl sitting next to me what his name was…”Oh that’s Miles – he’s so hot.” She wrote. So the next day I went into the library and looked him up in the yearbook from the year before. There he was — on the football team, as the class president…dating someone I know my older brother thought was cool. Of course — everything about him was “cool.”  I starred hard at his picture and I wished (as if on a star) that he was boyfriend. I mean, how else could a nerdy freshman like me nab a cool stud like him?

Meanwhile, I was trying to tell my friend Wendy about him. She totally didn’t believe me that some hot older guy was flirting with me. That same afternoon a group of guys rushed us in the hall after 3nd period. “Excuse me, pardon me…” and then they were gone, but I could have sworn that one of the guys was Miles from detention.  “No, you’re crazy,” said Wendy.

I couldn’t wait for detention that day…and then, he wasn’t there. I was crestfallen. All my hopes — shattered.

The  next day I was in line getting my burrito and there came those guys again…”excuse me, pardon me,” and one of them was indeed Miles and he put a piece of paper in my pocket.  “It’s a love note,” exclaimed my now believing friend. When I pulled it out and opened it, it wasn’t a love note, but more of  a drawing, the one we had been working on together. He had found out my name too and incorporated it into hearts with a special message “Bean Pie Love, Noni.”

That afternoon he was in detention and we sat next to each other — quietly drawing, looking up at each other, smiling, if only to confirm what we already knew was true. We were madly and totally in love — already and we hadn’t even kissed yet. Once we got out of detention we stood on the that beautiful grass on that beautiful day — not knowing what was next but having an idea that surely it would be good. We touched hands, but only barely. He walked me out to where my mom was waiting. “I’m speechless, Noni” is all he said grinning like a Cheshire cat.  I introduced him to my mom. She said hello and he waved goodbye to us.

“So who is that? He sure is cute and nice,” said my mom. “He’s my new boyfriend, mom.” “Oh…really?” she said. I just looked out the window and smelled that fresh air. Yes, this is what love feels like and I’m in it…so in it.

Miles was my boyfriend from that moment on at 141/2 until I was 171/2 and a senior. In between there was a great, great love that flourished and inspired and changed me and those around me. Through our paring we created many friendships. My brother Curt started hanging out with us and became best friends with some of Miles’ friends. My best friend Wendy dated his best friend Pete and so on and so on. Pete became one of my best friends too (we lost Pete 7 years ago and it was Miles who held my hand during Pete’s funeral.)

These early years were fun, fun times that were played out in a beautiful, still untouched country setting.  With such great love and friends around me and so many fun things to do, I often felt like we lived in our own movie. I had some of the greatest moments of my life with Miles. So many funny days and nights, lots of parties and sneaking out in Pete’s van so that we could make out in the hay bales in a field that is now filled with corporate offices. In the fall of 1987 Miles and I were in terrible car crash – he hit a telephone pole because we were kissing while we driving! Yes, seriously.  We could have died then. In fact, I was unconscious until the paramedics arrived. I survived, but was left with my Miles scar, like a tattoo of a time long gone; there is large gash on my leg that is still there to this day.

There were school dances, rocking parties where the Accolades played and tons of rock concerts. I think I saw The Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Primus, Mr. Bungle and Victim’s Family at least 10 times in the eighties. There were beach bonfires, cliff diving into rivers, date nights where we saw movies with friends and long walks where I shared my beautiful mountain with my friends. There was also Miles’ 42-day stay in a rehab, long, delightful letters and later endless hours of trying to understand and forgive mistakes on both sides. There was one I just couldn’t dismiss and it seemed to unravel us, slowly. Recreational drug use became more common and Miles behavior more erratic. I worried about him, he seemed to be sputtering out of control. My parents fretted that he was going to take me with him. But we still loved each other — A LOT.  I can’t remember much about the last year of our relationship, I don’t know why. I try to conjure  memories of that last year and a fog pours over the tips of something, nothing. We weren’t as good that year and Christmas ’88 ended in tears and with us breaking up and not talking rather suddenly.

I do recall, a day that I’ll never forget. It was one of those days where you smile and look at the people next to you and you just have a feeling that wells up inside “I love all of you.” You make me laugh.  Miles, Pete, and Wendy and I all took the bus to the San Francisco. We ran into my brother on Haight Street — randomly. So we all spent the day wandering and laughing — and we walked really, really far. It was too much for my right leg, which was still bandaged and stitched up from our car accident, so Miles and my brother carried me to the Golden Gate Bridge. At some point I was sleeping on Miles’ shoe in one of the Piers.

Finally, there was the inevitable time as with “first loves” when you start to grow up and away from what was. You both have changed, or one has changed more than the other.

“We’ve got a love that goes soul deep” he wrote in my high school yearbook that fall. “No matter where were are 30 years from now, I know that we will never be far a part. I will love you until the day I die..”

Even five minutes after we broke up, I always knew where I could find Miles. I could ask about him, at the very least. Even if I couldn’t find him, I knew what he was doing…always. Eventually all of his girlfriends had to be friends with me. I was “Noni.”  Over the years, there were still parties and fun times, stolen kisses in moments of weakness and flirting.  He gave me rides, helped me move once, and came to all my jobs and apartments when I still worked and lived in San Francisco. He held my hand during some of my darkest times.  He seemed to always be there just when I needed him the most. Miles was very much a part of my life 21 years after we broke up.

This past July when I drove up to his parents’ house everything was so normal. His dad came out and said hi and then “Miles, Noni’s here.” His dad looked older, he was still very handsome, like Miles, but his hair was almost white. “John, come look,” I said.  And he came over and peeked in at my sleeping baby girl in the back seat.  “Wow!” he said and had to go in the house to take care of something….

Then, Miles appeared, smiling. He was very happy to see me, and I him. He was walking on his prosthetic which was great. He had come a long way since his accident where he had lost his foot five years earlier. His hair was dyed blondish again. He looked younger…and cute. But he was somewhat down and not as effervescent as I remember him from our younger days…but how could he be? Because the baby was sleeping in the back seat, we decided to take a drive. I hadn’t taken a drive with Miles in a long, long time.  First we drove passed the telephone pole we hit years ago when nothing could pull us apart, then by where the old Racket Ball Club used to be…this is where we’d swim together after school and where so many things “happened” between us in the bushes in the back.  We even drove by the corporate offices where the hay bales once stood under a moonlit sky.

We didn’t say goodbye that day as much as we were saying hello. After spending years calling each other on land lines at our parents’ houses, he finally had a cell phone – “Wow, I can’t wait to call you on your cell,” I remember saying.

I know that I hugged him tight, but because Maya had woken up (while I ran into Starbucks and Miles was watching her), she was crying through some of the drive and I was distracted and the rest is a blur.  Later, I couldn’t even remember what day it was that I saw him. I was home for six weeks, but I don’t seem to have a record of this meeting in any of my calendars or in my phone logs. I started to wonder if it happened at all…

By the time I finally called his cell it was just to hear his voice one last time. He died in his sleep of heart failure on Thanksgiving. My heart is broken, in half. I’ve been walking in a daze ever since. Living half in reality and half as if I’m 16 again and lying in his arms, re-living every last moment together. At his funeral and wake (or after party), I kept wanting to turn around and tell him something. I still do. Miles are you there? But running around free, with great health and both feet? Are you re-living some of your favorite moments? Because you certainly lived life with abandon when you could. Are you playing music? Are you watching over me? Your family?  I hope so…

If I live to be 80 years old, I will miss you Miles Miller McNaught. There’s nothing else I can be but grateful for the time we shared, even though my heart is just breaking.

Brenda Starr Reporter

Then, there is the loss of something, a character. My grandma, Dale Messick passed away five years ago, but the heroine she created, Brenda Starr Reporter lived on — 20 years passed her retirement and five years passed her death. It’s odd to me that my grandma lived to be 98, and her character lived to be 70…and my great friends Pete Hill and Miles died so young.  Maybe we are put on this Earth to do certain things  — to entertain, to cheer, to smile a certain smile.  I’m really not sure. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to certain things and then, yes, things do make sense.

In these past few weeks I’ve looked at hundreds of old photos and re-read letters and journals and re-traced my last 25 years, long before I was a married new mommy writing plays in New York City.  If Miles had done things differently, could it have changed things? He and Pete both the nicest of guys and so much fun to be around, but sadly they were both drug addicts. Then I think of things between us…What if I had forgiven him in a certain instance…?

Nope. This was what it was. I met Miles exactly when I was supposed to meet him, when he had the greatest impact on my life. We were probably able to love each other for so long and so deeply because we weren’t together anymore. Later, after college and such I was off on a different path – but that’s another story.  The many roads we can take. When there’s was a fork in the road, I kept turning East, to Europe, to New York City…bright lights big city. That’s me…

But there’s a part of me that’s right here, in this town, on those hay bales, and in those bushes. I’m running in the fog across the Golden Gate Bridge. Perhaps I did die in the car that night and I already lived another life.  I’m in those photo albums upstairs, I’m buried here in the ground, and there’s something new sprouting and growing from those ashes.

In life, as in death, we draw our power from the same source.

So I’m in the town of Sonoma today, sitting in the Sunflower Caffe on the square. I spent the early part of the day doing a pilates session with my good friend Susan Aslin, who is an amazing pilates teacher. Whoa — so much better than anything I’ve ever gotten in New York.  But I haven’t done pilates in nearly two years and my abs are, um — a mess. So much about having a baby that no one tells you.

Anyway, Sonoma county is full of my good friends doing great things. My family is here and it’s beautiful.It smells like grapes even when you see cows.

I didn’t see everyone in the world on this trip, but I did enough. I shared my baby Maya with my mom and dad. We took her swimming, watched her stand for the first time and taught her to suck from a straw.

She loves it here, just like her mom.

I was joking the other day when I was out ever-so-briefly that it’s wonderful to see New York City even if it’s only from a cab window.  I drove by my old haunts the other day – The café Grounded on Jane street and thought — oh how much I want to go in and order a coffee and write….but no, it’s not even close to possible.  My life as I knew it is now over.

This was a rather weird year for me, I’ve been pregnant and a new mommy for the whole year…and I moved – such transitions make for lots of confusion.

About a month before the baby was due my husband and I moved to Tribeca or Baby Park City, which is what I call it.  I’m not kidding, it’s all babies all the time.  I recently joined the Hudson River Park Mommies Group, which is pretty hard-core email group for mommies who live downtown.  Strollers are a common sight down here – about as ubiquitous as cars — and every time you stop to chat to one of the mommies you find out she’s a part of “HRP.” As soon as you are a mommy your conversations and concerns change.  Mommies talk about poopies, breastfeedings, pediatricians, playgroups, sleep schedules, etc and it feels like it never ends. That’s what these women do – they talk. And now that’s me – I talk baby.

I’ll admit it, probably like most new mom’s I’ve been frustrated, irritated, annoyed and sometimes depressed. I’m resentful that my husband often sleeps till 2PM and then gets up and takes a two hour long shower.  Mommies never, ever get a break and I think that is what is so shocking about the whole new mom thing – we suddenly have much more responsibility than our man. I have felt like I’m drowning in New York at times.

But here’s a little bit of sunshine.  I’m in Sonoma Country, California at the moment. We are spending a few weeks here with my mom, hanging in her country home. I am nowhere near New York or the cold weather or the HRP mommies. I’m in hippy wine country.  It’s nice here. This is where I grew up. My husband and I get to sneak away for an hour or two and go to the mall while my mom watches the babe and we’re thrilled about it.  The best part is that I get to share my wonderful daughter with my family and friends which I wasn’t able to do in New York.   Last night my mom and I sang the baby  lullabies in the room she created for her (my brother’s old room) in the house where I was born and raised.   Life really does come full circle and having a child reminds you how precious, beautiful and amazing life really is. More to come, but for now, I am sending you all a little bit of Sonoma County fuzzy.

All around me I was allowed to engage in political discussions and activity like never before, so that’s when I decided to start The Pop Cycle.

One minute I was getting  my hair done, the next minute the girl tells me she’s from Alaska. So I decided to take action and launched into my very first interview on September 17th with Melody Olsen, a hairdresser.   Normally I asked people a few key questions, which are:
“What do you like most about New York?” “Who are you going to vote for?” Why?
And my favorite, “What’s the craziest thing that ever happened to you in New York?”
My other rules: You had to be sitting across from me (no phone or emailing responses for the most part) and I had to take your picture on the spot.
Some of the late interviews that didn’t make it into the post were too great to toss, so I will at least try to mention them here.
Last Friday I was out with my friend Marisol for a stroll around my hood.  Marisol just started a new job as a theater teacher for an urban school in NJ.

Marisol

We got coffees at Joe’s and ended up at Sheridan Square, a sinister little drug park located right off 7th Ave and Christopher.  To be candid, I wouldn’t sit in the park if I were alone; it’s full of Crack dealers.  But Marisol and I decided it was the best location for me to take some notes during The Pop Cycle interview.  Just as I was taking her photo, an ominous looking man walked up to us and asks if he can take our picture (with my camera).
“Only if you promise not to run away with my camera,” I said.
“Me?” he said.
Hmmm.  He actually seemed nice enough.  So instead of Marisol, I turned my attention to my first criminal.

Jose

Who: “Jose”
Where: Sheridan Square, NYC
Occupation: Ex-convict
Marisol asked Jose about his necklace which seemed to have some symbolism.
“How’d you know about that?” He said, seeming shocked.
“I’m a Latina,” she said proudly.
Marisol, who has light skin and beautiful brown eyes doesn’t necessarily look Latina, but just talk to her and you’ll get it.  When we first became friends as students at the then Actors Studio Drama School, I was shocked by her stories.  Marisol had seen her fare share of violence while living in LA.
“I was trying to fit in and be part of group, it was very close to a gang situation.”
“Jose” was in gangs too, but his were more dangerous. So I asked him a few questions:
“The gang life was great when I was young.  I was driving a BMW.”
“And what about prison?” I said
“I don’t know…I was stabbed four times in prison and shot twice on the streets of New York. You tell me, what do you think is safer?”
Now Marisol is reformed from her gang teenage days. Standing before me is a proud Latina, a teacher, a wife and a woman who, with persistence and hope gets what she wants.
“I pray as often as possible,” said Marisol.
“So do I,” said “Jose.”
“And what are you doing now?” I asked “Jose.”
“Enjoying my freedom.”
“Oh yeah, who are you voting for?”  I ask
“Obama.  But I can’t vote.”
Next up:

Ricky

Who: Ricki, owner of Snip and Sip
Ricky is my hairstylist who not only has the coolest looking shop in New York – he’s also the most amazing hairdresser.  Seriously, he makes me look fab.

Snip and Sip Window dressing

Francessco Rulli

Who: Francesco Rulli Owner of Filmannex.com

Where: Union Square, NYC

He told me outside of September 11th, the craziest New York adventure was “having children. They are like little monsters.”  He said this in a loving way, actually like someone who sees things through a lens, like a filmmaker.

On election day, I ran into my old friend Kate Sessions at Joe’s, so I sat down and chatted with this North Carolinian native, before we both ran off to watch election results.

Kate Sessions

Who: Kate Sessions
Where: Joe’s Coffee House, West Village
Occupation: Actress
The most exciting thing about Kate at this very moment is that she absentee voted in North Carolina.
“I always do,” she says with a twang.
So, to cut to the chase – what’s the craziest thing that ever happened to you in New York?
“When I first moved to New York , I was working late at a bar, standing behind the counter, and at three in the morning, a bullet came through the ceiling above, just missed me, hit the bar, ricochet to the mirror behind me, smashed it, and then flew into my metal shaker, which I used as my tip cup.”
I was pretty much speechless after hearing this story.

So, I am done for now.

Random, but just as I was writing this, I found this article on Yahoo.  I woke up in Inverness and spent the morning drinking coffee in Pt. Reyes.  I love this town!

Point Reyes Station, Calif.

Population: 818
Nearest City: San Francisco, 39 miles
The dilemma in Point Reyes Station is what to do first: explore Point Reyes National Seashore or just wander around and eat. At Toby’s Feed Barn, second-generation owner Christian Giacomini runs a farmers market, gallery, and yoga studio, while still selling hay and salt licks. Also inside, the baristas at Toby’s CoffeeBar pour cappuccinos with rippled hearts in the foam. Nearby, Cowgirl Creamery produces excellent soft-ripened cheeses, such as the Pierce Point, which is made from organic whole milk, washed in organic Riesling, and rolled in herbs. When you’re ready to experience some nature, Chicago native Laurie Manarik leads hiking trips to see seal pups and conducts nighttime kayaking excursions to check out bioluminescence in nearby Tomales Bay. The bay’s oysters, it must be said, are the best around. Eat them where locals do—up the road at The Marshall Store. The beautiful scenery may make you want to put down roots. “After my first visit after college, I spent the rest of my life figuring out how to live here,” Manarik says. — Scott Hutchins

Last year we skipped the L.A. trip and went far East to Moscow to see the other side of his family (his mom and step dad)  in 2007.  Highlights from that trip included agreeing to be interviewed for the International NTV channel (in Russian) and taking his parents to the Le Meridien in Moscow for a few days, which is a very nice hotel, especially for his mom and dad who don’t do fancy things. The pool there was massive and we bought his mom a swim suit and she swam with her son for the first time in 20 years. It was actually the first time she’d swam in a pool in twenty years! Can you imagine? This made me very happy. I just enjoyed watching from the sidelines, in between reading my amazing book: Suite Francaise.

This year, we decided to travel on the cheap (sort of).  We just did a two-day backpacking trip to Sequoia National Park, which is about two and a half hours from Los Angeles. I didn’t really want to go, but now that it’s over, I must say, I had a great time, and I felt extremely present, which isn’t always the case. We are an interesting little family unit when we all get together. We are all funny. The Paperny family is one of the funniest and interesting groups of people that I have ever met, so coming from an equally goofy family (but in a different way) I think our families mix well together — or, I think I mix well with them.

Dmitry, my husband is the funny one, who really keeps the group together. He’s the planner and has everything organized (he secretly bought me a new back pack for the trip by measuring me while I was asleep). Dmitry is truly one of the most darling people that I have ever met in my life. So I guess I am glad that he’s my husband. His sister Tanya is much younger than us, but she’s very mature and interesting to talk to, so it makes us almost even. At only 22 she’s working her first real job in youth advocacy in D.C. She is really into saving money and living on “what she has now” (I went through a phase like that too). She’s already volunteered in New Orleans twice! When she lost her cell phone, we gave her one of our old ones instead of her buying a new one. She’s forgetful, has a bad back and already “doesn’t want to talk about work.”

Dmity’s dad, Vadik, a true intellectual Russian. He’s been living in LA for the past 25 years and has a design studio there. Though, outside of his design work, he is an “intellectual” on many things. He has a PhD and has written a book in Russia about architecture that his made him sort of celebrity in Moscow. Vadik spent his time teaching me a Russian proverb about an old man who planted a turnip that grew too big. I turned it into a rap song. Since we ran out of wine, I only learned half the song, which in English just sounds ridiculous….

When we get together, it always makes for fun times.

So anyway, the four of us took off like a pack of turtles and drove up to the park. We got a campsite and pitched our tents. The next morning we took off for our 7 mile hike, 3.4 up and 3.4 down. It was a long day, and at some point while you are huffing and puffing you are wondering “why?” It’s in moment’s like these that you are already imagining the hot tub at home (Dmitry’s dad has one) and the massage you’ll get and the burger at “In and Out Burger.” But at present, all you can do is feel the pain and try to breathe.

That night, I couldn’t sleep at all. I heard that a mama bear and her cub wandered around the campsite at night (but were “harmless”)….whatever. I kept imagining that a bear snout was going to come popping into my tent at any moment. It never happened, but I did peak out to see the giant sequoias and the stars. The stars were some of the brightest I’ve seen. And in that moment, one fell from the sky and I made a wish. A moment later, a deer or perhaps some other great animal began to graze on the nearby grass and this kept me up all night. Who’s eating the grass? A deer, a bear, something else? We decided later, when we went on a walk to “learn about the trees” that what we heard was a Unicorn and the small stretch of grass must be magical.

Early the next day we were invited to take a tour to learn all about the trees in our area. While I was trying to decide the difference between a Ponderosa and a Jeffereson or a Sugar Pine, White Fir and a Giant Sequoia, I became aware, awake and alive. We then continued on our walk to a cabin in the middle of the woods, which we were told was Grace Allen’s cabin, a woman who spent many summers living in this area. On our way to the cabin we saw old junk, pots and pans from 1890 all covered in rust. When we arrived at the door, a nice old lady came out dressed in some vintage settler’s attire a la 1898. She introduced herself as Grace Allen and asked if we wanted a cool glass of lemonade. She then said her father had moved here in 1880 to run the mill, and she was born here in this cabin in 1887, which would make her about 141 years old, perhaps the oldest person in the world. Huh? My eyes popped out of my head. Huh? But she only looks about 80. What’s going on here? Is this place the fountain of youth? Am I just tired? No, perhaps I’m just waking up.